


Dance with Me

by Laurielove



Category: Vicbourne - Fandom, Victoria (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, First Kiss, Historical Liberty Taking, Older Man/Younger Woman, Requited Unrequited Love, Smutlike Tendencies, Unrequited Love, Vicbourne, Wishful Thinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-10
Updated: 2016-09-10
Packaged: 2018-08-14 08:01:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8004937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laurielove/pseuds/Laurielove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set somewhere around Episodes 2 or 3 (but without or at least before any rooks). There is a (delayed) ball for the Queen's birthday. Lord Melbourne seems reluctant to dance. This, however, does not suit Victoria.<br/>A little moment of Vicbourne indulgence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dance with Me

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [ПОТАНЦУЙ со мной](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11631540) by [Laurielove](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laurielove/pseuds/Laurielove)



> This is all hypothetical ‘what if’ stuff. We all know that Victoria adored Albert. We all know that Melbourne didn’t look like Rufus Sewell. 
> 
> But ... what if ...?
> 
> I’m not going to change history, but I may just have a little bit of fun with it.
> 
> This is lodged firmly within the realms of the TV series, Victoria. Victoria looks and acts like Jenna Coleman and Lord Melbourne looks and acts like Rufus Sewell, and time can just pause for a moment and let us all have a little moment of indulgence. It takes place somewhere around episodes 2 and 3 with the events of 3 sort of maybe not quite fitting with this but never mind. Something like that. This is set just after Victoria’s birthday. There’s a ball. And the Prime Minister’s there, naturally …

She was in no mood for another ball. This one had been delayed after the incident at her birthday – the one involving the rodents. Now that it was finally upon her, she had lost the enthusiasm. When the dancing started she refrained from taking part. Fortunately, there were no Russian Grand Dukes to appease this time. 

Victoria kept a quiet pace around the outside of the room until she came to the one person she actually wanted to see. He was standing, contentedly disengaged from the proceedings, it seemed, although he would enter into brief discussions with whomever approached him. His ready smile and his ease of manner kept everyone happy, she noticed. 

She approached him quietly, almost unnoticed, and continued to stare out at the dancing, as did he. ‘I never said thank you, Lord M,’ she eventually said.

‘For what, Your Majesty?’

‘For my birthday gift.’

She could sense him turning his head briefly towards her, but she resolutely did not look up at him. ‘Do you like it?’ he continued. 

‘I am not sure.’ Only then did she turn slightly to look his way. She eyed him carefully to see if she’d disarmed him. He let the corner of his mouth tick up but displayed little other emotion. ‘What the deuce am I to do with it?’

‘I believe you are supposed to look through it, Ma’am.’

‘At the stars?’

‘Yes.’

She countered. ‘I thought you, more than anyone, would know that I have more than enough to keep my eyes on on the ground, Lord M, let alone turn my attention to the heavens.’

His smirk deepened. ‘Well then …’

‘Well then what?’

He turned to her fully at last and fixed her with his eyes in that way that made her catch her breath. ‘Then use it as you see fit, Ma’am. But use it wisely, which I have no doubt you will.’

She appraised him. He gave so little away in his expression, but never once had she read any guile in his face, which at that moment looked more handsome than she could ever recall. ‘Why do you have such faith in me when those around you do not?’ she asked.

He gave a little moue of his mouth. ‘You have given me no reason to doubt you, Your Majesty.’

She allowed one of her eyebrows to quirk up in tease. ‘Yet.’

He smiled back. ‘Yet.’

Victoria turned her gaze back out to the room. Many people were looking across at them, leaning in and talking, no doubt in discussion about the nature of their conversation. She ignored it. She was loving her time with him so much she had no wish for it to end. ‘I am glad you are here tonight. I missed you at my birthday celebrations. Perhaps if you had been there you could have prevented my apparently ‘hysterical’ response to the rat leaping from my cake.’

‘I doubt you were hysterical.’

‘I wasn’t … but I did scream. It was a very large rat.’

‘Yet I fail to see how I could have prevented such a reaction, Ma’am.’

‘Well, if you had been there I would not have noticed the rat!’

‘Why ever not?’

‘Because I would have been looking only at you!’ She laughed aloud, forgetting herself completely, but then realising almost instantly what she had said. Victoria froze, her eyes wide and locked into his. She expected him to avert his gaze quickly, but this time he did not, and this time her breath was completely and utterly held. 

She fumbled to explain it away. ‘I mean … everyone else there was so dull and lifeless and … and I had no desire to speak with them … We do so enjoy our conversations, don’t we?’

He smiled again but said nothing. She fell silent for a change. He was standing so tall beside her and her heart beat was coming fast and loud now. She felt unseasonably warm and so energised that she feared she could no longer stand still. 

‘Dance with me,’ she said. 

‘That would be unwise.’

She insisted. ‘Dance with me, Lord M.’

‘No, Ma’am.’

‘Why not?’ she huffed.

‘We should not even be speaking like this as it is.’ 

The level tone of his voice infuriated her when she was so impassioned. ‘You are my Prime Minister! I am free to take counsel whenever I so choose!’

‘This is a social gathering, Ma’am. I daresay there are few here who believe that our present conversation amounts to counsel. And they recall your last public display of champagne consumption … as do I.’

‘I danced with you then.’

‘Yes.’

‘And I wish to do so again,’ she insisted.

‘I regret, Your Majesty, that I am unable to do so on this occasion.’

‘Why not? Do you not trust me?’

‘It is not that I do not trust you … More that I do not trust myself.’

She stopped at his words. The sudden widening of his eyes and pinking of his cheeks told her that he realised what he had said too late. For a time neither moved nor could look anywhere else. When he looked into her eyes – a rare event – it was as if the rest of the world vanished. But then, with intrusive insolence, her mother appeared.

‘Drina. You are expected to mingle with the court. Your behaviour is most intolerable tonight. Lord Melbourne … my daughter must engage with her subjects. You have not yet danced with me. I am free for the next.’

He inclined his head, his cheeks still flushed, Victoria noted, and smiled politely at her mother. ‘Forgive me, Your Highness, but I am afraid I must retire for the night. I have a meeting with the French ambassador tomorrow which is most important and for which I must prepare. Good evening.’ He turned and bowed to Victoria. ‘Your Majesty.’

And with that he walked away. She stared after him, still reeling from their conversation.

Her mother droned on. ‘Drina, the Duke of Cambridge wishes to dance and yet you stick to the wall like a sickly puppy. Must you keep fawning over that man?’

‘Fawning? Do you not understand anything? Mother, if I did not have Lord Melbourne I would have nobody! He is the only one who listens, the only one who even attempts to talk to me in a way that is neither patronising nor sycophantic. I am so tired, Mother! I am so tired of everyone else. Leave me!’

She threw a poisonous glare at her mother and stormed out, ignoring the heads which turned her way as she swept through. Rushing down the corridors, she caught up with Melbourne before he could depart.

‘Where are you going?’ she called loudly, out of breath from running so fast in her corset.

He stopped and turned reluctantly, his eyes cast down, his shoulders tense. ‘I told you, Ma’am. I should be leaving now.’

‘Should, but must not.’

‘I have other matters to attend to.’

‘Matters more important than me?’

He sighed. ‘Your Majesty … you are enjoying an evening of conversation and dancing. We are not involved in matters of state at this hour, so I hope you will deem it reasonable for me to attend to other duties.’

‘What other duties?’ She could tell her voice was becoming shrill. ‘And I want to know exactly why you refused to dance with me!’

He took a step towards her and brought a calming hand out. ‘There is no need to distress yourself.’

‘I am not distressed!’ she practically shouted.

He glanced anxiously down the corridor, hoping nobody had seen them, then took her by the elbow and guided her into an empty room. With any other man she should have reprimanded him severely for daring to touch the Queen, but her skin was flushed at the first contact of his fingers. She let herself be guided by him, delighted in it.

He closed the door behind them to ensure her voice would not be heard, then turned to her, his face set straight, his mouth tense. ‘Ma’am, you know there are those who question the nature of our relationship. We must not give their fire any more fuel.’

‘And what are they saying?’

‘That you … that we … have a more intimate relationship than we should.’ 

‘Intimate? Do we?’

‘It is foolish enough to leave the ballroom at the same time,’ he half whispered in frustration.

‘Why? This is an important discussion, and as you said, it is unwise for people to watch us together if they are spreading unfounded rumours. I wish to converse in private.’

‘Like I said, Ma’am, I am leaving.’

‘No, you are not.’

‘And why not?’

‘Because I … because I command you not to.’ She never used her royal privilege on him, but why not? She lifted her head high and held herself as regally as she could. 

He appraised her for a moment, relaxing a little with a smirk, then took a pace towards her, his hands out to his sides in mock defeat. ‘If you say that, then I … am at your disposal.’

‘Are you?’

‘Why, of course. I am unable to refuse you.’

‘Why … why are you unable to refuse me?’ She looked into him, stepping in closer, searching his face. He had said he could not refuse her. He needed her as much as she needed him.

‘Because you are the Queen, naturally.’

‘Is that the reason?’ she queried.

He glanced back at her. Her eyes shone out at him, her smile flickered. Their gaze was locked. ‘What other reason could there be?’ he said.

‘If I were not your Queen … would you still leave?’

‘If you were not my Queen, neither you nor I would be here.’

‘But let us pretend, make believe … if I was just another lady and you were just another man … and we were free to dance together and talk together and do whatever we so wished … would you still leave?’

His brows furrowed a little but his eyes did not leave her face. ‘No.’

‘Will you pretend that … just for now … that I am just another lady and you just another man? And will you dance with me?’

‘Here?’

‘Yes. Here, now. In this room.’

His confusion seemed to retreat into acceptance then expectation as he at last gave her one of his slight but assuring smiles. ‘Very well. Just one.’

‘Just one,’ she repeated, her heart beating frantically.

He stepped into her and slowly moved his hand around her waist. Even through the layers of her clothing, she could feel the heat and strength of it. Her breath caught as she placed her own slight hand on his shoulder and held the other out. His fingers held hers and rather than simply letting her rest them along his, he closed his hand around hers as if claiming her, reversing their roles. She revelled in it.

She could think of never wanting or needing another man. With him nothing, nobody else mattered. She could deal with them all: Sir John Conroy, Cumberland, her mother. 

‘We have no music,’ he said.

‘I can hear it,’ she replied.

He smiled softly. ‘Where?’

‘In my head. In my very being. Can you not hear it too?’

He nodded. And then, with a natural ease that staggered her, he began to move her. 

She wanted everything this man could give her. She needed everything he could give her, of that she was certain. If they could stay like this together she would be happy forever. She smiled up at him, not once letting her eyes move from his. Her joy seemed to spread to him and his smile deepened. Her euphoria felt like nothing before. Their bodies moved so well together. Their hands clasped not awkwardly, neither too hard nor relaxed, but well. Their legs moved in perfect synchronicity and when they touched she thrilled to it. She could stay like this, moving and turning and being held by him.

They flowed through the room, never stumbling, never wavering, as if an unseen force guided them. She dared move into him more, wanting that warmth that he gave her, that strong conviction, and was rewarded when he did not pull back but rather maintained the grip on her back, pulling her in even closer. 

She knew not how long they danced. It could have been a mere minute or hours. Time was meaningless. But, eventually, he slowed and, eventually, he stopped. But he did not pull back. He remained there, his breath deep and fast, partly through exertion but not altogether, she suspected, because her breath had been torn from her for the very same reason. Their hands moved down but then found each other again. He held her fingers gently and his thumbs stroked along the delicate lines of them.

‘At this moment … I am perfectly happy,’ she said, whispering up to him. He did not reply. She asked, ‘Are you happy?’

He hesitated only briefly before replying, ‘I am.’ 

‘You told me earlier that you did not trust yourself.’

He gave no response but remained so close that they needed only send their thoughts to each other in delicate whispers on their breaths.

‘Perhaps I do not ask you to trust yourself,’ she continued.

‘You should, Your Majesty.’

Her eyes closed briefly. ‘Do not call me that.’

‘I am obliged to.’ 

‘Then I release you from your obligation.’

He smiled and his eyes softened, casting over her face. ‘What then am I to call you?’

‘Call me Victoria. I want that. I want you to.’

‘I …’ he stopped himself. ‘Ma’am …’

‘No. Victoria. Please. Say it.’

She waited, staring into him expectantly.

He looked back at her and whispered, almost unheard, ‘Victoria …’

She exhaled in happiness. How good it was to hear her name on his lips. ‘Say it again,’ she said, leaning ever closer into him. 

‘Victoria.’

‘I like that.’

‘Victoria...’

‘You see … it is not so difficult, is it?’

He shook his head with a faint smile, ‘No.’ His eyes remained fixed on her. They stood for a while, content with their closeness and their silence.

‘What are you thinking?’ she asked at length.

‘I am thinking what an extraordinary and vibrant creature you are.’

‘Is that a good thing?’

‘I think so.’

She searched his face, sincerity etched onto hers. ‘You teach me so much. I want you to teach me everything, everything I should know, everything I should be.’

‘I am trying.’

‘It is not enough. I need to know all there is to know. All there is for a woman to know.’

If anyone had wished to draw a silhouette of the two of them, together there, alone and private, they would have found no light between them. They were so close; barely parted after their dance. Her tiny frame was practically resting against him. It was dark in the room, their eyes the brightest points of light. She could pretend no one else existed. Only them. 

‘I cannot do that,’ he murmured, but his eyes had not left her face and still he did not move away from her. She could smell him richer than ever, that deep sandalwood which danced around her senses. Her breath was back but it was rapid and it hurt. There was a sensation deep inside which was pain yet as far from pain as it could be. She sensed that the only way to be rid of it – if that was what she wanted – was through him.

‘Yes. Do it. Teach me.’ She wound her fingers tighter around his and felt his tighten in turn on hers. Her heart stuttered with wonder. Fixing her eyes into his, she murmured, ‘Kiss me.’

His brows furrowed, but his fingers remained clasped in hers. ‘I am your Prime Minister.’

‘I do not care. It does not matter. Nothing matters. Please … please … I want you to, I want you to so much.’ Still he looked confused, as if torn between heaven and hell. ‘Do you not wish it too?’

‘You must not ask me that.’

‘I will ask you, not as your Queen, but as a woman, as a woman who adores you, as a woman who wants to know life. William … do you wish to kiss me?’

He closed his eyes tight and his lips pursed, but then he opened them again and whispered so softly it was barely heard, ‘Yes.’

‘Then … here I am.’

And with that, he brought his other hand up and touched her face, softly at first, with just the fingertips, before running his thumb along the line of her chin and cupping her cheek in his hand. She would die, surely, but never could death feel so wonderful. He moved down, inclining his head to hers, so slowly she could not bear it. But she waited for him to reach her. And there it was. Lips to lips. That sensation inside leapt like a wild thing and she adored it as much as she adored him. 

After the first touch of their lips he seemed about to pull back, but she leaned in to prevent it and felt the tension of surprise in him, but then her action seemed to quash his doubts and he pressed his mouth harder to hers. His other hand relinquished her fingers only to hold her head so that he now cupped her tightly, and he kissed harder, deeper, moving his lips firmly, opening them slightly so that she could feel his warm, sweet breath mingling with hers. Could life be so beautiful?

It must not end. She wanted the moment to last until the end of time. Still he kissed her, and all her hopes and longings were confirmed: he adored her as she adored him. 

She wondered if she would fuse to him, if they would form together into one, and then, as she slipped through the deepest joy, he drew himself away from her mouth only to plant kisses over her chin and then move down, kissing along her neck, which she bared for him, holding him against her. His mouth was open, hungry almost, and his hot breath seemed to melt her skin itself and draw such longing from her she was not sure she would survive it. 

There was a deep pressure inside her; that thing inside was now uncontainable and pranced through her belly with illimitable delight. 

Still he moved down, his mouth now grazing her collarbone, then moving further to the soft down of her breasts. ‘Victoria …’ he murmured, his voice thick with his own longing. ‘My angel, my joy …’

‘Yes, yes,’ she slurred, almost dispossessed from herself, as if she had taken on the new and wondrous form for which she had always been searching. ‘My joy, my happiness … I adore you, I need you … I want only you.’

And with that he was back to her mouth, holding her head hard and kissing her with such intensity she could not draw breath. The force of it moved her against the wall and allowed him to kiss her with more passion than ever before. 

She would give herself to him. Now. There was no doubt. She must. He must. He must take her and have her and she would give him all she was. She pressed into him and felt something nudging at her waist. She suspected what it was and a thrill raced through her to realise that she had such power over a man. This was not the power of a queen, this was the power of a woman. She was free as never before.

She pressed harder against that force and he groaned while still kissing her. She liked the sound and wished to hear it again, so she pressed strongly along that part of him once more. Again, he gave the most beautiful earthy moan which spoke to some primeval force in them both. Instinctively, unthinkingly, her hands moved to his jacket and she began to push it from his shoulders. At first he let her, his pleasure too consuming, but when her fingers found his cravat and tugged at it, he seemed to stutter, to falter. His eyes opened, and although her kisses were an opiate for him, he suddenly and desperately pulled away from her and took several staggering steps back. 

‘Don’t stop,’ she implored through breathless pants, coming round to him and taking his head, trying to pull him into her again, but he held her off, moving back.

‘No! No more.’

The strength of his words left her in no doubt. 

‘But … you adored it, did you not? I adored it. I adore you. I adore all of you. I want all of you.’

‘You have no idea what you are talking about.’

‘Oh, I do. I want you to give to me what a husband gives to his wife. I felt it … I felt you.’

He turned away from her, shame consuming him, hiding the evidence of his desire from her. His voice settled and he spoke again like the statesman that he was. ‘Victoria … you are decades younger than me. I am a fading politician, you are the most beautiful and promising monarch this country has seen for an age.’ He looked over his shoulder at her, the weight of duty and remorse etched heavily on his handsome features. ‘I cannot give you that. I must not. Someone will come after me, someone young and passionate and able to serve you as you deserve to be served.’

Her eyes pricked with hot tears. ‘You are that man. I want that man to be only you.’

‘No,’ he smiled softly. ‘You do not really.’

‘But I loved our kiss. I loved it all. I loved it so much. Did you not love it?’

‘Yes. I adored it. It was the most wonderful thing that has happened to me for as long as I can remember. You are the most wonderful thing that has happened to me … But you are my Queen, and I will serve you only in the way I should.’

Desolation was destroying her. ‘But … I cannot stand it! I cannot stand not to have that.’

‘You will have it, when the time is right and with the right man.’

‘You are the only man I want! I cannot stand having any other!’

‘Yes, you can. You are the strongest, most extraordinary woman I know. You can stand anything.’

‘Not your rejection.’

‘Rejection?’ He turned to her fully and took a pace across to her, looking hurt, rejected himself almost. ‘Why do you say that?’

A sob rose from her. ‘You have rejected me.’

‘After what has just happened between us, how can you call that rejection?’

‘I want more.’

‘And you shall have it … but not from me.’

‘Why not from you? Do you not know what I feel for you? I love you!’

He smiled softly but said nothing.

‘I love you!’ she repeated. ‘Do you not love me too?’

He looked deeply into her, his eyes bright with sincerity. ‘Why do you think I do this?’ She stopped, her breath catching. ‘Second only to seeing my son die, giving you up is the hardest thing I have ever done in my life.’

‘Then do not give me up! What good would it do you?’

‘Me? Perhaps none. I do not do it for me … but for the country … and for you.’ 

She reached for him again, but he stepped beyond her reaching hands. ‘Please,’ she tried.

‘No, Victoria.’ He adjusted his clothing and smoothed down his hair. She was crying openly now, tears pouring down her cheeks. ‘Do not cry. What happened between us will never fade. You will always have it, as will I, and it will nurture and sustain us both.’

‘Will it?’

‘Yes, it will, absolutely and certainly.’ He sighed a little, then stood tall. ‘Now … I am leaving. It is late and … I must remember that I have a country to run.’

She let out a sudden laugh through her tears. He stopped and said, ‘Your smile is the most perfect thing I carry inside me.’ Then, with a soft smile, he moved to the door. When he reached it, he turned back to her. ‘Goodbye, Your Majesty.’

‘William!’

He looked across at her. 

‘Say it,’ she said. ‘Say it. Just once. If you really are doing it for me … say it. If you really believe it, say it.’

He hesitated and she saw his eyes glistening in the candlelight. Then, just before he dropped his head and walked from the room, he looked her deep in the eyes and stated, as plainly as his proudest utterances in Parliament: ‘I love you.’


End file.
